The Elflord: A Ballad
by Earendilion
Summary: Some people are just too hot to handle – an entirely too raunchy moment in the Last Homely House. T for thematic elements, but no smut.


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It was one of those brilliant autumn nights when the heat and gaiety of summer still linger, the moon is nearly as bright as the sun, the air is thick with the crisp scent of leaves aflame and freshly turned earth, and the tables are laden with the harvest's fruits. On such nights as these, the Eldar are hard-put to control those mystical turns of mood that transform them all to youthful laughter, fleet-footed song, and even fleeter jest.

Imladris, Gil-galad's easternmost stronghold in Eriador, was no exception.

Sauron had been driven out of the Westlands for a time. They were graced with the presence of the Lady Galadriel, her husband Lord Celeborn, and their daughter, Lady Celebrían. The harvest was the first truly fruitful one in many winters, and the vintage had been excellently aged. They had no reason not to celebrate.

The flames in the hearth of the Hall of Fire danced more merrily than usual, stimulated not only by the fresh breeze tempted inwards by doors and windows thrown wide, but also by the widespread laughter and dancing feet and voices raised in song. Even Lord Elrond was smiling from his high-backed chair at the foremost place in the room, his normally dark gaze turned almost merry by the sight before him.

"Have you nothing but black in your wardrobe?" a sparkling, bell-like voice inquired as an elegant white hand passed him a pewter goblet of the deep red wine.

"Does my garb displease the lady?" the lord inquired gently, swirling the drink in its cup and inhaling its full perfume.

"Only in that I fear it reflects my lord's mood. But you cannot fool me." The Lady Celebrían graced him with a brilliant smile. "I saw you smiling."

"Nonsense," he murmured into the goblet. "Besides, I promised Erestor I would do no such thing. He must not be left alone in his misery, you know."

He was answered by a snort of derision. "Misery. 'Tis not misery, but a perpetual foul mood he brings upon himself. But I will change that." She straightened and glanced around the room as though looking for someone. "As soon as my faithful servant arrives."

Elrond found himself genuinely concerned by this threat. "What are you planning? Do try not to anger the man – some of us have to work with him."

"Well, then, you can be angry together," she beamed and, before he could demand an explanation, danced away into the crowd.

He had just settled back into his chair, a little more warily than before, when a loud cheer erupted from the crowd. He glanced up and saw Celebrían standing before the hearth, the other revelers gathered around her in a half-moon shape, their faces eager. Worse than the gleam of mischief in her eye, however, was the one in her companion's: Glorfindel looked as though he was putting to use every considerable ounce of cunning he possessed, not to mention one too many sheets to the wind.

The golden Elf cleared his throat and the Hall quieted instantly. As soon as their attention was secured, he began to clap out a fast pace with his hands, gesturing for the listeners to take it up, which they did with a second cheer; they knew what was coming. His rhythm established, Glorfindel began to sing in a deep baritone that barely concealed his laughter:

_Well, an Elf-lord clad in robes left an inn one evening fair_

_One could tell by how he walked that he'd drunk more than his share_

_He fumbled 'round until he could no longer keep his feet_

_And he stumbled off into the grass to sleep beside the street_

The crowd roared its pleasure and joined him in the well-known and well-loved refrain:

_Ring ding diddle iddle aye dee oh_

_Ring dye diddly aye oh_

_He stumbled off into the grass to sleep beside the street_

Celebrían stepped forward to join in the second verse, complementing him in the harmony and all the while toying winsomely with a blue ribbon.

_About that time two young and lovely maids just happened by_

_One says to the other with a twinkle in her eye_

'_See yon sleeping Elf-lord, so strong and handsome built?_

_I wonder if it's true what they don't wear beneath the skirt.'_

Laughter and suggestive whistles dappled the next cheer and refrain; Glorfindel looked as though his smile might split his face in two.

_Ring ding diddle iddle aye dee oh_

_Ring dye diddly aye oh_

_I wonder if it's true what they don't wear beneath the skirt_

Celebrían passed the limelight back to Glorfindel and began to weave through the crowd with her blue ribbon as he sang the next verse. Her hands trailed prettily over the shoulders and cheeks of the eligible males there, eliciting blushes and shy smiles and more than one hopeful glance.

_They crept up on that sleeping Elf-lord quiet as could be_

_And lifted up his robes about an inch so they could see_

_And there, behold, for them to view beneath his elvish skirt_

_Was nothing more than Eru had graced him with upon his birth_

More raucous laughter and appreciative shouts.

_Ring ding diddle iddle aye dee oh_

_Ring dye diddly aye oh_

_Was nothing more than God had graced him with upon his birth_

As Glorfindel continued, so did Celebrían, now trailing her ribbon over her quarries, alternately stretching it out before them as though in measurement or hooking it momentarily around their necks, then shaking her head and moving on. She paused the longest at Erestor, who endured her inspection with a stern, but steadily paling visage. She eventually leaned forward and whispered something in his ear, still working the ribbon, that quite effectively brought an excess of color back to his cheeks. And, with a bright laugh, she danced away from him as the verse ended.

_They marveled for a moment then one said 'We must be gone,_

_Let's leave a present for our friend before we move along.'_

_As a gift they left a blue silk ribbon tied into a bow_

_Around the bonnie star the Elf's skirts did lift and show_

With one last wink at Erestor, Celebrían pranced free of the crowd and leapt nimbly up the dais to Elrond's chair. One hand held the gently fluttering ribbon, the other gestured in question to the lord of the household as the crowd sang out its chorus, then cheered in approval. Before Elrond could protest, the ribbon was wrapped around his neck three times and he was hauled to his feet, nearly falling into the grinning maid who was holding him captive.

_Ring ding diddle iddle aye dee oh_

_Ring dye diddly aye oh_

_Around the bonnie star the Elf's skirts did lift and show_

Celebrían led him down to the hearth by the ends of the ribbon as the revelers applauded and laughed the ballad to an end. Releasing her makeshift leash, she took a step backwards and curtsied low first to him, then to the crowd after linking her arm with Glorfindel's, an impish curve to her sweet mouth.

But Elrond was not finished with them yet.

He cleared his throat and the Hall fell silent, not with expectation, but with fear. Had the jest gone awry? Had their lord been angered? A hint of doubt crept into even Celebrían's and Glorfindel's eyes.

And then he began to sing the verse that had composed itself in his mind as soon as he had known what was coming:

_Now the Elf-lord woke to nature's call and stumbled towards the trees_

_Behind the bush he lifts his skirts and gawks at what he sees_

_And in a startled voice he says to what's before his eyes_

'_Oh, lad I don't know where you been, but I see you won first prize.'_

The crowd obliged him.

_Ring ding diddle iddle aye dee oh_

_Ring dye diddly aye oh_

_Oh lad I don't know where you been but I see you won first prize_

Elrond unwound the ribbon from his neck as the very pleased throng dispersed and handed it back to the Lady with a bow.

"I believe this is yours," he said with a determinedly straight face, though his eyes danced and sparked.

"Mine?" she blinked innocently. "_I_ believe first prize is yours, my friend."

He couldn't help but watch her sashay away, the slightest of roguish grins curling his lips.

"Don't be too proud of yourself just yet," Glorfindel muttered into his ear as he passed him. "Celeborn is coming this way."

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**A/N** "The Elf-lord" is simply a modified version of the Scottish ballad "The Scotsman," Elrond's verse included, as I heard it originally by Bryan Bowers.


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